


NYE

by remy (iamremy)



Series: 12 days of wincestmas - 2020 [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Camping, Car Sex, Fireworks, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: At midnight, Sam thinks he'll tell Dean how he really feels.Dean beats him to it.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: 12 days of wincestmas - 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601026
Comments: 17
Kudos: 154





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sintari (OriginalSintari)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalSintari/gifts).



> this was submitted in two parts, for days 6 and 7, but i'm putting both in one fic for simplicity's sake. enjoy! and of course, a happy [belated] new year to everyone <3

Dean’s found some campsite in the middle of nowhere, and according to the bartender’s sister three towns over it has a wonderful view of the fireworks. Sam’s not so sure about this whole plan, considering that they’re in the midwest and it’s really fucking cold, but they don’t have any cases, and he kind of misses spending time with Dean doing nothing, so he agrees to go along with it.

They arrive early in the afternoon and find a nice spot by a tree. It’s not so much a campsite as it is just an empty field, but there are already other people there with tents and lights. Dean picks a spot a good few yards away from the nearest tent, and parks.

It doesn’t take them long to set up. They don’t have a tent, so all they do is spread a couple blankets on the ground in front of the Impala and place their cooler in the center. It’s too cold for beer, so Sam’s stocked it with vacuum flasks of coffee and hot chocolate instead. Dean’s contribution is his little hip flask, which Sam rolls his eyes at and declares, “That’s not going anywhere near my drinks.”

“Wet blanket,” Dean accuses him, but it’s all in good fun.

They play poker for a while, sitting cross-legged on the blanket across from each other, and it catches the attention of a couple parked nearby. Sam’s not too happy about it considering the whole point had been to spend time with Dean alone, but Dean looks more than delighted to have more people join in, and so Sam keeps his mouth shut. They go a few rounds, and by the end of it Dean has acquired a sweet pocketknife, a cell phone charm shaped like a gun, and a half-full bottle of whiskey in winnings. The couple are pretty good-natured about it, but they don’t play any more rounds against Dean, and presently, much to Sam’s relief, they wander off again.

“Want some?” Dean asks Sam, holding out the bottle of whiskey.

“No, thanks,” Sam answers, and Dean shrugs before taking a swig directly from the bottle.

“This is nice,” he says after a few moments. “Haven’t really done this in a while.”

Sam hums in agreement. “Yeah,” is all he says, eyes focused on the sky. It’s steadily getting darker, and soon enough there won’t be any light. “Can’t remember the last time I saw a sunset,” he says quietly to Dean.

“Me neither,” Dean says after a moment of surprised contemplation. He takes another swig from the bottle. “Man, we miss a lot, don’t we?”

“Can’t help it, I guess,” Sam says. He reaches into the cooler and withdraws the flask of coffee. “Probably not a bad thing, though,” he adds, offering the flask to Dean. “Means we appreciate it when we do get to see it.”

“I guess,” Dean answers. He takes the flask, pours some coffee in an old, chipped mug Sam hands him, and adds whiskey to it before handing Sam the flask back. “So. Any resolutions?”

That makes Sam laugh, though he’s not sure why. “I don’t know,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Um… try not to get hit in the head too much?”

Dean laughs too. “Good luck with that,” he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles at Sam over his mug. 

“What about you?” Sam asks, resolutely ignoring the butterflies in his belly.

Dean shrugs. “Ah, I dunno, get laid more often, I guess?”

The butterflies turn to lead. Sam tries not to let his smile fade as he says, “Even more than you already do? Your dick is gonna fall off.”

“Then it will have died a noble death,” jokes Dean, but his expression is off, too. 

There’s silence, but of the awkward kind, and Sam curses himself for it. They’d been having a good time, and he’d gone and let his stupid feelings ruin it. And it sucks, because for the past few weeks he’d been letting himself think that maybe Dean felt the same way that he does, that there’s actually a chance for the two of them. And he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, if this whole evening went well, he’d man up, and tell Dean how he felt, and see how that went– except there’s no point now, because it’s clear Dean _doesn’t_ feel the same way.

It’s getting sort of painful to just sit there and keep his eyes away from Dean’s, so in the end Sam just checks his watch, and says, “Okay, I’m gonna, uh, I’m gonna nap in the car for a while, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, too quickly. He looks grateful for the change in subject. “I’ll wake you up at half an hour to midnight, okay?”

“Sure,” says Sam, and gets up.

It takes him a while to get to sleep, though, despite being bundled up in four layers of clothes and a thick quilt in the backseat. It’s not even that he’s cold. He just feels vaguely nauseous every time he thinks of what Dean said, and then even more nauseous whenever he tries to rationalize it. And it’s not even that Dean did something wrong. He _didn’t_. If anything, Sam’s the one in the wrong here, he’s the one with weird fucked up feelings for his own _brother_.

With that not very comforting thought, Sam finally manages to doze off.

True to his word, Dean wakes him up at 11:30 by knocking on the car window. It takes Sam a few moments to return to full consciousness, and he emerges from the car with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The temperature has dropped in the time he’s spent sleeping, and Sam shivers a little as he makes his way to the front of the Impala, where Dean’s sitting on the hood with his feet resting on the bumper.

“Here,” Dean says, handing Sam a mug of hot chocolate when Sam joins him. Sam takes an experimental sniff, which makes Dean roll his eyes and add, “No alcohol in it.”

“Okay,” says Sam, and takes a sip. It’s not as hot as he’d like it to be, but that’s to be expected considering it’s spent hours in a flask. “Thanks,” he says quietly, knocking his shoulder against Dean’s.

Dean smiles softly. “It’s nothing,” he says. “You, uh, you sleep well?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. What did you do?”

“Just talked to a few people, played a few games,” Dean answers vaguely, looking straight ahead.

“Had fun?”

“Nah,” Dean tells him. “Got kinda boring after a while. I thought about waking you up, but then I figured you need your beauty sleep.”

“Well, why didn’t you?” Sam asks.

“I almost did,” Dean says. “But you looked so damn adorable, wrapped up in like twelve blankets. Didn’t wanna ruin that.”

“I’m not adorable,” Sam mumbles, ducking his head a little.

“Yeah, you are,” Dean retorts, grinning. “You’re being adorable right now.”

“No,” protests Sam.

Dean laughs, and wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “If you say so,” he says, amused, and it’s obvious he’s only saying it to end the argument. 

Sam leans into his side, grateful – Dean is exuding warmth, and the weight of his arm on Sam’s shoulders is comforting in its familiarity, something he’s always associated with _home_ and _safety_. Dean leans back into him too, and the two of them watch the dark night sky for a few minutes, occasionally taking sips of coffee from their mugs. There are still a few minutes to midnight.

“You warm?” Dean asks eventually, his voice low.

“Mm,” Sam answers. He’s still got the blanket about his shoulders, and he’s appropriated Dean’s scarf and paired it with some mitts he’d found in the Impala earlier. All of that combined with Dean’s body heat next to his is serving to make him quite comfortably warm.

“Good,” says Dean. His arm is still around Sam’s shoulders.

Sam leans further into him, letting his head rest against Dean’s shoulders. Dean shifts to accommodate him, and the two of them sit there in comfortable silence. If Sam keeps his eyes on the sky, he can pretend it’s just him and Dean here, and no one else.

Midnight arrives with a bang, and the first firework explodes in the sky in a shower of magnesium-white. Sam sits up straight at that, coffee mug forgotten on his hands, his face turned up towards the sky. Besides him, Dean is doing the same, both of them watching the display of fireworks in awe. Around them Sam can hear people wishing each other, interjected with the occasional shout and whoop.

He turns his head to look at Dean, and is surprised to find Dean looking back at him. Dean’s eyes look golden in the light from the fireworks, and his lips are slightly parted, almost as if he wants to say something but isn’t quite sure he should.

“Dean?” Sam asks when this goes on for over a few seconds too long.

Instead of replying, Dean moves forward and kisses Sam. His lips are dry from the cold, and he seems unsure of himself, a little bit hesitant. It takes a few seconds for Sam’s brain to come back online, and he tries to kiss back, to let Dean know that he’s more than okay with it.

That helps; the hesitance vanishes, and Dean presses into him, nipping lightly at his lower lip until Sam opens up. The fireworks overhead fade, but they don’t stop kissing, and the butterflies in Sam’s belly are performing some sort of strange victory dance, making him feel all weird and light-headed and dreamy.

“Happy new year, Sammy,” Dean whispers when they part.

Sam laughs, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Dean’s. “Happy new year, Dean.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while there's no actual penetration, the smut is kinda top!dean/bottom!sam. just mentioning in case someone might have a different preference :)

“Fuck my life,” mutters Dean. He’s lost count of how many times he’s said it so far, but the feeling remains the same and is yet to fade even a little.

“It’s just a little traffic,” Sam answers bracingly. 

“Well, I hate it,” Dean all but snaps.

He should have expected it, though, really, he thinks morosely, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Once the fireworks were over, everyone began packing up to leave the campsite, which has caused this nice little jam on the way back into town. Sam had wanted to leave immediately too, and if Dean had listened they wouldn’t be in this situation. But Dean had wanted to stay and keep kissing Sam for a while longer, and so they packed up later than most people, and here they are. Dean won’t say it, but he’s grateful Sam hasn’t busted out the good old “I told you so” yet – though he suspects that’s because Sam’s just as happy as he is about all the kissing.

Which was a welcome surprise, honestly. He’d played a gamble, putting the moves on Sam like that, and there had been every chance of it going wrong. Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being grateful that it didn’t, that Sam ended up feeling the same way. And then Sam was looking at him like _that_ , all soft and wide-eyed, and his nose was pink from the cold, his mouth all red and wet, and fuck, what was Dean supposed to _do_? He should be given some sort of medal for his self-restraint, he thinks, or he’d have fucked Sam right there on the hood of the Impala instead of keeping it to kissing.

And that leads them to their current dilemma – Dean is half-hard in the driver’s seat, and his pulse hasn’t slowed at all since the first kiss, adrenaline racing through his body. And Sam’s not much better off either, flushed and restless in the passenger seat, discreetly adjusting his jeans when he thinks Dean’s not looking.

“Let’s hope there are vacancies at the motel,” Dean mutters, dragging his eyes away from Sam’s crotch.

“I don’t think so,” Sam replies, looking out the windshield at the cars sprawled out in front of them. “Bet all these people want rooms too.”

“Fuck my life,” Dean sighs.

Sam gives him a sympathetic pat on the knee, wincing a little when someone behind them honks loudly. “Where is he expecting us to go?” he mutters.

“Asshole,” Dean adds, and turns around in his seat to glare at the minivan that’s giving them attitude.

It has been around an hour since they’ve left the campsite, and Dean’s chub is bordering on painful now, begging for attention. It’s come to the point where he’s refusing to look directly at Sam now, because just the sight of his mouth is enough to drive Dean insane. It doesn’t help that he keeps biting his lower lip, apparently unaware that he’s doing it. And that makes it worse, because this is Sam _not_ trying to be a tease. Dean doesn’t want to know what’ll happen when Sam really puts in an effort.

A few minutes pass. The car inches forward. Dean flips off a few people who insist on honking at him, as if _he’s_ the one holding them all up.

“This is ridiculous,” Sam says presently.

“Right?” complains Dean. Normally he’d have taken the shoulder and done several illegal things by now, but that’s not possible here – the shoulder is actually just the edge of another field, one with plants so overgrown that trying to drive there would just be an exercise in futility and frustration. “Man, times like these,” Dean says, “I can kinda see the bad guys’ point. There are too damn many people on this planet. Maybe next time we should just let ‘em kill a few off before we stop them.”

“Dean!” Sam sounds like he’s outraged, but Dean can see him trying to suppress a smile. “We can’t do that!”

“Yeah, I know we can’t,” grumbles Dean. “Not like you’d let me even if I wanted to.” Freaking Sam and his morals.

“You shouldn’t want to in the first place,” Sam points out.

“Come on, Sammy, you can’t tell me you’ve never considered homicide whenever people are being really dumb,” Dean argues. “Like that woman last week at the pharmacy, you remember?”

“Essential oils lady?” Sam says.

“Yep,” says Dean. It was funny enough when Sam had given her his best bitchface when she’d told him that chamomile would be better for him than antibiotics. It got even funnier when, irritated by her insistence and his tolerance worn down by pain to begin with, Sam had just wordlessly pulled up his pants leg to show her the jagged cut on his shin, courtesy of the werecoyote they’d just taken down.

(“Can your precious chamomile fix _that_?” Dean had asked. She’d chosen to give them a dirty look in lieu of a reply, and had fucked off to wherever she’d come from.)

“I mean, she was annoying,” Sam says after a moment. “But I wouldn’t want to _kill_ her.”

“No? Then you’re a much better person than I am,” Dean tells him. He’d definitely been homicidal for a few moments there. He tended to cruise in a state of low-key panic whenever Sam had so much as a papercut – Sam with a leg wound being kept from meds because of some cuckoo lady? Yeah, Dean’s trigger-finger had been itchy, sue him.

Sam snorts at that. “No, I’m not,” he says.

“Did you at any point consider murdering that woman? No? Then I rest my case,” Dean says decisively.

“You didn’t consider killing her either, you’re just dramatic,” Sam says, grinning.

Dean opens his mouth to answer, finds he can’t really argue, and just rolls his eyes instead. “Man,” he complains loudly after a moment, looking away from the fond look Sam’s giving him, “seriously, it’s been _forever_. How have we not moved even a little?”

“We’ve moved a little,” Sam says.

“Not enough.”

“Well, it _is_ a traffic jam.”

“Stop being reasonable about this, Sammy. I don’t like it.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “What, and complaining will help?”

“No, but it makes me feel better,” Dean says.

Sam shrugs at that and leans back in his seat, adjusting his pants again. Almost against his will Dean finds his eyes drawn to Sam’s crotch again, and his own body responds by sending some more blood downstairs. It’s verging on agonizing, and Dean’s not sure how much more he can endure.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, and before Sam can say anything, swerves.

There’s barely enough space for the Impala to turn without bumping into someone, but Dean is a determined man and he manages, turning the car onto the small strip of dirt that borders the field. The Impala is a wide car and there’s barely space, but Dean maneuvers her expertly, steering and jostling her along until she comes to a stop by the side of the dirt road, a foot of distance between her and the cars inching by.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow. “Why are we stopping?”

“Because,” Dean says, putting the car in park and locking the doors, “I’m super horny right now, okay, Sam? And I refuse to wait hours to reach a motel just to find out there’s no vacancy.”

“Seriously?” Sam asks incredulously, watching as Dean turns the heater on higher and takes his jacket off. “You wanna do this right now? Here?”

“Got any better ideas? And don’t say wait,” Dean adds in a warning tone.

“I wasn’t,” Sam mutters. “What if I don't _want_ to have sex right now, though?”

Dean pauses in the act of unbuttoning his plaid shirt. “Then we won’t,” he says, though he really hopes that’s not the case. “Then I’ll just think about gross things like, I don’t know, imagining Crowley having sex, and that’ll ruin me for sex for about a decade, and we’ll be golden.”

That makes Sam laugh. “No, it’s not gonna come to that,” he says with a grin. “Don’t worry. I do wanna have sex, I’m just–” He waves a hand around the car. “We’re kinda limited on space, huh?”

“Sammy,” Dean says seriously, throwing his plaid in the backseat and unbuttoning his jeans. “I have never backed down from a challenge. I’m up for it if you are.”

“That’s not true!” Sam points out. “You’ve backed down from plenty of challenges.”

“Well, not this one,” Dean says. His shoes are off now, and so are his clothes, everything except for his boxers. Sam’s beginning to get with the program too, taking off his jacket and plaid, and Dean finds himself riveted.

He’s seen Sam naked plenty of times before, but never like this, not in this context, and he’s never had the pleasure of just sitting back and watching Sam strip for him. Sam notices him looking and ducks his head, suddenly self-conscious, but Dean’s having none of that. He leans forward, and murmurs, “Can I?” while putting his hand on Sam’s knee.

Sam nods. His “Yeah, okay” is barely audible, but it’s consent, and so Dean unbuttons his jeans for him, hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling both his pants and boxers down in one go.

They’re both naked now, hard and aching, and Dean is tempted to turn on the overhead light to dispel some of the darkness in the car and just _look_. But Sam looks self-conscious as it is, glancing worried glances around, and it’s pulling a little at Dean’s heartstrings. The windows aren’t tinted; anyone passing by can look inside, and while Dean doesn’t give a shit, it’s clear that Sam does.

“Wait a second,” he tells Sam, and then reaches into the backseat, grabbing his clothes again. Sam looks confused for a second, probably wondering if Dean’s going to get dressed again, but then Dean rolls down his window just a few millimeters, letting in a burst of frigid air, before hanging his shirt from it so that the window is covered, and then rolling it back up. He does the same with the backseat window, until the side of the car facing the road is completely covered, and then sits back to give Sam a reassuring smile. “All right?”

Sam nods, giving him a grateful smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Dean leans in, kisses him softly, and takes a moment to revel in the fact that he’s allowed this now. “It’s nothing.”

Sam kisses back, still smiling, and that sets the ball in motion. Dean had worried that it would be a bit awkward – first time, and all that – but it’s clear that it was pointless. Sam’s body fits his like a puzzle, and Sam’s responding to his body language in a way that borders on telepathy, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and letting Dean lay him back on the seat.

Sam’s right, it is kind of cramped, but it’s not the first time either of them have had sex in the Impala, and Dean’s sure they can make it work. He turns the heater a bit higher, and then guides Sam to rest his back against the front passenger door, not taking his mouth off Sam’s for even a second. Sam goes, pliant under Dean, until he’s sprawled on the seat, Dean’s body on his.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asks, pausing in between kisses.

“Yeah. You?” Sam replies, smiling up at him. The awkwardness is gone, and so is the self-consciousness, and for that Dean is glad.

“I’m great,” he tells Sam with a grin, leaning in to kiss him again. He puts one hand under Sam’s back, supporting him as much as he can, and the other inches down Sam’s belly until it finds his cock, hard and leaking.

Sam lets out a suppressed whimper when Dean’s hand closes around him, and unwraps one of his arms from around Dean so he can slide his hand in between them. Dean catches it before Sam can reach his cock, though, and says, “Don’t. I got you, Sammy. Let me.”

“Control freak,” Sam accuses, but withdraws his hand anyway.

Dean grins down at him. “Not that fun being on the receiving end, huh?” And before Sam can answer, he leans in again and puts his mouth over Sam’s pulse point, just under his jawline.

Sam lets out a soft groan and lets his head fall back, and then winces when it hits the window with a _crack_. “Ow,” he complains.

Dean has to laugh at that, even though he gets a glare in return. “Breaking your new year’s resolution already, huh?”

“Your fault,” Sam tells him.

“Nuh uh,” Dean says, nipping at his jaw. “Well, at least I get to keep mine.”

Sam snorts at that. “This is what you meant, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Dean confirms happily, travelling down to suck a hickey into Sam’s collarbone. Sam whines a little, bucking up into Dean, and their cocks brush, making Dean gasp a little too.

“Shit,” he says, holding himself over Sam with his weight braced on an arm. “I – shit, Sammy.”

In response Sam just grins cheekily and bucks up again. Dean’s ready for it this time, and he puts his other hand under Sam’s back again, holding his hips up against his own. Sam’s arms tighten around Dean’s neck and he lets out an almost inaudible moan into Dean’s skin, his breath coming in hot little puffs.

They’re both sweating now, thanks to the heater and their own efforts, and Sam’s dick is silky-wet and slippery against Dean’s. Both of them are leaking precome, adding to the slickness, and Dean can’t help it – he grinds down into Sam, and Sam bucks up into him, their cocks sliding together, sending liquid heat through Dean’s veins.

“That okay?” Dean asks, a little breathless.

“Yeah,” Sam answers, voice a little hoarse. “Yeah, feels good, don’t stop–”

Dean thrusts again, and Sam whines, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist and dragging him in closer. Their bodies are pressed tightly against each other now, cocks trapped in between them with only sweat and precome to slick the way, and every time Dean moves he sees stars. Going by the sounds Sam’s making underneath him, his little brother’s not faring much better. They’re moving so fast now that Dean’s sure the car is rocking, and the interior is beginning to smell of sex, heavy and musky.

Sam’s skin is hot, electric against Dean’s, and the little pants and whines in his ear are much more effective than any aphrodisiac. Dean can feel himself inching towards the edge, and normally he’d want to draw this out for as long as possible, but Sam is _addictive_ , and Dean is already hooked. There’s no turning back now, not from this, the way Sam’s body feels under his, and– “I’m close, Sammy,” he pants out, mouth pressed to Sam’s hair.

“Me too,” Sam tells him, his hands gripping so tightly at Dean’s back he’s likely to leave scratches, and fuck, _fuck_ , the thought is absolutely _maddening_.

It takes a few more thrusts, but then Dean is biting down on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam is yelling his name hoarsely, and they both come in thick spurts in the space between them. Dean’s legs are shaking from the force of it, and he collapses on Sam when he’s spent, dick twitching weakly against Sam’s belly. Sam lets out a breathless little laugh and unwraps his legs from around Dean, relaxing his body until he’s stretched out as much as he can in the limited space.

“That was–” he begins.

“Mindblowing,” finishes Dean with a grin, and kisses Sam once more.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Glad we did that now instead of waiting.”

“Ah, we can definitely do it again,” Dean tells him, grinning, before he gets up again. He grabs one of the shirts in the backseat and uses it to wipe them both clean, and adds, “Got a new year’s resolution to keep, after all.”

And when Sam laughs it makes happiness explode inside Dean’s chest, better and brighter than any firework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then they find a motel and fuck some more ;D

**Author's Note:**

> please comment and let me know what you thought!
> 
> love,  
> remy


End file.
